


Let's Talk About Sex

by holodex



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anal Sex, Asexual Christine Canigula, Blow Jobs, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Squip, Relationship Advice, Smut, it's a good time, jeremy tops, michael is a power bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 02:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holodex/pseuds/holodex
Summary: Michael and Jeremy go to their friends for advice on having sex for the first time, then proceed to do just that.





	Let's Talk About Sex

If you'd told the Michael Mell of six months ago that he'd have a steady boyfriend by senior year, he wouldn't have believed you. If you'd told him the person he'd be dating was his best friend of twelve years, he _definitely_ wouldn't have believed you. And if you'd told Michael he'd have to resort to asking Jake Dillinger and actual human spitfire Rich Goranski for advice on having sex for the first time with said boyfriend, he would have laughed in your face.

But that was then. Now, Michael's new normal involved getting stoned in places other than his own basement and, apparently, gratuitous descriptions of Jake Dillinger's cock.

"Rich, dude—you're going off-topic again."

Jake's sitting on the lip of the foosball table, the joint they've been sharing held pensively between his fingers. Rich's garage is thick with smoke, and Michael can feel the edges of his mind starting to go all loose and nebulous, but the pleased little smirk playing on Jake's lips isn't lost on him. Rich leans into Jake's chest from his spot between the taller boy's legs and plucks the joint out of his hand, something devilish playing in his eyes. Michael groans, worrying the drawstring of his hoodie and trying to forget the details of Rich's extremely graphic commentary.

" _Michael, Michael, Michael._ " Rich sing-songs between drags of the joint, gazing at the other boy with mild amusement.

"Seriously, man—can you take this seriously? Both of you, just—I need your help." Michael fumbles for the right words, marveling at the total absurdity of the situation he's found himself in. It's like a fucking sitcom, he thinks, shifting uneasily in the old lawn chair he's positioned himself in.

Jake gives Michael a meaningful look over the top of Rich's head, laying his hand on the shorter boy's shoulder and smiling softly.

"Listen, Mike—you're overthinking this. Jeremy likes you. You like Jeremy. Just be honest about what you want and—"

"Just _fuck_ already!" Rich cuts in, yelping when it earns him a slap on the arm from Jake. Michael buries his head in his hands, as Rich and Jake launch into an indistinct tirade, starting with something about "—so vulgar" and ending with a retort from Rich that sounded a lot like "—you like it". Michael thinks this conversation probably closely resembles his own personal hell.

The thing is, Michael and Jeremy _have_ talked about it. About having sex. About breaking from the realm of _everything-but_ they've been reveling in for the last few months. Michael's happy with _everything-but_ , honestly. He'd be happy with nothing at all. He's happy, with Jeremy: stupid, crazy happy. And getting off together is great, is _fantastic_ , but it feels like a really small part of that happiness. Jeremy could tell him tomorrow that he never wanted to do anything more than hold hands ever again, and Michael would be content to do just that. Being close to Jeremy: knowing that Jeremy loves him, knowing that Jeremy _wants_ him—that's enough. And if Jeremy wants to keep sucking him off between rounds of Apocalypse of the Damned, keep spending entire afternoons in Michael's bed fingering each other to completion then that—that's just a perk.

But yeah, they've talked about doing more. They've gone as far as setting a literal _date_ for them to lose their virginities on, albeit unintentionally. Michael had been dropping Jeremy off at home after a group movie night held at Chloe's place, and when he'd pulled into Jeremy's driveway the other boy had leaned over to kiss him goodbye and whispered: _'My dad's gonna be out of town next weekend.'_

Jeremy had scrambled out of the car before Michael could reply. He'd watched Jeremy jog to his front door and disappear inside, awkward and red-faced, and had tried to let how endearing the whole thing was distract him from how hard he'd become in his jeans.

That had been a week and a half ago. They'd ended up talking about it the day after, once Jeremy had gotten over his mortification about the whole thing, and had decided to ease into things. Together. Michael would come over for the weekend, they'd play AOTD and do all the other mindless shit they normally did, and if they ended up having sex—great. And if they didn't—that was okay too.

"You want me to give you my, like, _honest_ advice?" Rich asks, startling Michael out of his train of thought. Jake's hands are resting on his shoulders, like the two of them are about to go into battle or something.

"Please." Michael manages to squeak out, and he grimaces at the clear distress in his voice. Rich sets his jaw.

"You're going to want to rush, the first time. Don't." The joint's abandoned: Michael watches Rich take a final puff before tossing it into an empty Folgers container they've filled with water. Jake's behind him, nodding solemnly at everything his boyfriend's saying. Michael wills himself to pay attention.

"You gotta go slow. Slower than you'll want to, probably. And, like— _lube_."

"Seriously, dude," Jake cuts in, fixing Michael with a stony look. "Take however much you think you should be using and, like, triple it."

Michael sort of wishes he had something to take notes with.

"Do you—which one of you guys is gonna be bottoming?" Rich's face heats up as he speaks, and Michael's never seen him look so embarrassed. The guy is normally shameless—he can boast about the miracle that is Jake Dillinger's bare ass in earshot of total strangers without so much as batting an eye. His lisp gets stronger when he's embarrassed, Michael notes, before his brain can process the question Rich has just asked him. He chokes on air.

"Oh my god." Michael rasps, feeling his ears going red. He glances at Jake, trying to find a way out of this question, but the guy's smiling fondly, scratching at the back of his neck.

"There's no shame, bro—it shouldn't emasculate you or anything, that's just the culture getting to you," Jake starts, kneading his boyfriend's shoulders as he speaks. "I mean, I prefer to bottom, and I'm not—"

 _Jesus fucking Christ._ Michael did _not_ need to know that.

"I am! I—I'm going to bottom." He doesn't feel ashamed or emasculated or whatever Jake was getting at—that's not it. He just hadn't realized—hadn't known that this was something he _wanted_. I'm going to bottom, he hears himself say, the _for Jeremy_ of it going unspoken, and something new and electric travels up his spine. He knows they'll probably end up switching, trying it both ways—and God, he wants that. He wants to do _everything_ with Jeremy. But in this moment, he decides he wants to be the one receiving for the first time together, and the shiver that runs through his body at the thought of it is next-level.

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool." Rich grins at him, cracking his knuckles purposefully.

"Now—let's talk positions."

Michael thinks this conversation might kill him before he even has a _chance_ to fuck his boyfriend.

* * *

Jeremy feels really, really lucky. That's the biggest difference, he thinks, between his life before the SQUIP and his life now. He's just—grateful. Stupid grateful, all the time. Grateful to be in control of his own consciousness, grateful to be alive, grateful for Michael, grateful for the friends he's made, grateful they're the kind of friends who are willing to spend their Friday night in the aisles of a 24-hour drugstore with him.

It's kind of funny. Figures that he'd put off buying protection until the night before he finally loses his virginity. He'd remembered, suddenly, in the middle of an intense game of Trivial Pursuit with Christine, Brooke, and Chloe. He's never been more grateful for Brooke's mother's car. Or Walgreens, for that matter.

"I am _so_ glad I don't have to worry about any of this stuff." Christine murmurs from beside him, and Jeremy finds himself nodding in agreement. The selection of condoms offered at this particular Walgreens is, if Jeremy's being honest, thoroughly overwhelming. Single condoms, boxes of thirty-six condoms, glow-in-the-dark condoms, flavored condoms, warming condoms, _textured_ condoms—some advertising features Jeremy can't even _pretend_ to understand the purpose of.

"Brag about it, Canigula." Chloe intones, bumping her hip against Jeremy's as she walks by. She's holding a bottle of lube in either hand, like some perverted Lady Justice, and Jeremy feels his cheeks beginning to flush. "Do you think six and a half ounces is economical, or just excessive?" She asks, a catlike smile playing on her face. She shoots Jeremy a pointed look.

"It's like a different language." He mutters, overturning the box of condoms in his hands to inspect the label more closely. " _Designed for mutual excitement_ —what does that even _mean_?"

Chloe snorts, adding the larger bottle of lube to the blue basket on her arm.

"Guess you're gonna find out tomorrow, Jer." She lays a hand on his arm and squeezes, something almost prideful in her eyes. At the other end of the aisle, Brooke studies a box of dental dams with increasing confusion. Jeremy wonders briefly if he's embarked unknowingly on some horny-queer-teenager rite of passage.

"Don't tease him. It's important that he and Michael are being safe." Christine scolds, shooting Jeremy a meaningful look. There's still something magical about hearing his name alongside Michael's in the context of their being boyfriends. They've been a couple, officially, for three months, but that kind of stuff—Michael's name spoken in the same breath as his own—it still fills him with a fuzzy, infatuated satisfaction.

"Are you nervous?" Brooke asks him, tossing the box of dental dams into Chloe's basket, color blooming high on her cheeks. It takes him a minute to register her question.

"Uh. Not really? I mean—it's Michael and me. It doesn't matter if it's awkward or bad, I guess—because it's us. And I, uh, love him. You know?" He doesn't think he's said that out loud before, not in front of their friends. It doesn't feel as weighty as he thought it might—it's easy, just as easy as it is to say to Michael on the phone, in the car, in his bed. The girls are all staring at him like he's said something especially romantic, though, which he doesn't think he has.

"Should—should I be nervous?" He questions, blinking at the three of them. Has he not thought this through enough? He doesn't think that's it—he's thought about it a lot, to be honest. An embarrassing amount. Is he supposed to be anxious about this? Is there something he's forgetting?

"No! No, of course not." Christine assures him, gently patting his shoulder. "You're comfortable with him—that's really, really important."

Jeremy nods, considering. He loves Michael. Everything with Michael is easy, is at once instinctual and familiar. Sex isn't going to be an exception.

He watches Chloe add two more boxes of condoms to the basket. Then another. He frowns. How many are they going to _need_? And how expensive are condoms, anyway?

Chloe catches his eye and winks.

"Don't worry your pretty little head, Jeremy. It's on us."

He doesn't know what he did to deserve the friends he has. He doesn't know if friends normally buy each other value-packs of condoms, or reassure each other about the impending losses of their virginities. But he knows that he's grateful. And that feels like enough.

* * *

Michael's got that fucking Belinda Carlisle song stuck in his head, and he's not even mad about it. He's splayed out on Jeremy's bed, his hands twisting and pulling at the navy-blue sheets as the other boy nips at his neck. Staring up at the popcorn ceiling, gasping as Jeremy reaches down to palm him through the sweatpants he's wearing, he figures this—Jeremy on him and around him and _against_ him—is the closest thing to a religious experience he's ever had.

He has to tell Jeremy to stop, after a few minutes. It's good, too good, and they've still got all their clothes on. Jeremy complies, sitting up so he's straddling Michael, looking at him with a concerned tenderness. It makes Michael's knees go a little weak, and he has to stop to catch his breath. Jeremy swings his leg over Michael's torso, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Is everything okay?"

Michael nods, propping himself up so he's sitting against Jeremy's headboard.

"Good. So good, I promise. Just—" He beckons Jeremy closer, tugging him up and onto his lap, hands settling on the smaller boy's hips. "Shirts?"

Jeremy nods, reaching for his collar and pulling his shirt over his head in one clean motion. Michael grabs the hem of his own shirt and tries to do the same. It's not as smooth as he'd like it to be—he ends up tangled, somehow, his head stuck halfway out of the shirt. Jeremy laughs. It's not a malicious thing—it's loving, mindless, happy. Michael can't see him—his eyes and nose are covered, trapped in the black cotton of his shirt, but he feels Jeremy leaning in, face warm and close to his. Jeremy kisses Michael's exposed lips, feather-light and fleeting, pulling away and starting to laugh again. It's ridiculous, it's wonderful.

Michael thinks, distinctly, that he'll never tire of this. Of being around Jeremy: of the clumsy, comfortable love they've made for themselves.

They sit together like that for a minute, laughing softly, before Jeremy moves to help him, pulling the shirt off and tossing it out of sight. They're both flushed and eager, smiling like idiots. Michael looks at Jeremy, really looks at him—the toned lines of his chest, the dark mole on his right shoulder, the dusty pink of his nipples—and tries his best to take it all in. It's always like this, when the two of them are together. There's something reverent about it—about getting to see and feel Jeremy in ways he never thought he'd get to.

When they kiss again, it's hungry. Jeremy licks into his mouth, taking Michael's bottom lip between his own and biting gingerly. One of Michael's hands finds it's way into Jeremy's hair, pulling insistently. The other travels down to his ass to pull him close until they're flush against each other and Michael can feel how hard Jeremy is already. He wants to do this right—but then Jeremy's pulling away from the kiss, lips wet and swollen, reaching for the drawstring of Michael's sweatpants—and any intention Michael had of taking things slow flies out the window.

He lifts his hips off the bed, helping Jeremy to tug his sweatpants off. They're balled up and thrown across the room, both of them breathless and grinning. When Michael goes to reach for him, intent on getting his boyfriend out of his too-tight jeans, he finds that Jeremy's slipped out of reach. He's settled between Michael's thighs, hands ghosting over the other boy's hipbones. Michael's opens his mouth to tell him to come back and kiss him again, but then Jeremy's mouthing at the outline of his dick through the fabric of his boxers, and whatever Michael was planning on saying comes out a strangled moan.

It's hot and wet and perfect—he's painfully hard already, aching for Jeremy's touch, for whatever Jeremy's willing to give him. Between his legs, Jeremy moves to mouth at his inner thigh, and the proximity of his tongue to Michael's cock is too much and not enough all at once.

"Jer," Michael gasps, trying not to come on the spot at the sight of Jeremy gazing up at him, eyes blown with lust and something tender. "Please. More, please."

His boxers are around his ankles then, and before he can move to kick them off Jeremy's wrapping his mouth around his dick, spit-slick and unbearably lewd as he tongues his way down Michael's shaft and back up again to lave at the head, licking at the slit until his boyfriend's been reduced to nothing but whimpers and curling toes. He pulls off with a depraved wet _pop_ , making his way back up the bed and on top of Michael, who is regarding him through half-lidded eyes. This is how Michael looks at him after Jeremy's given him head—like Jeremy may as well have _invented_ the blowjob. It's sort of adorable.

____

____

"If you keep doing things like that," Michael breathes, extending a hand to stroke Jeremy's cheekbone, smiling when the other boy relaxes into his touch, "This is going to be over before we've even started."

Jeremy laughs, leaning down to kiss him.

"Can't have that," He whispers, grinning when Michael fumbles for the button-fly of his jeans. He ends up having to separate from his boyfriend, standing bedside as he wiggles out of them and his underwear in one motion. When he finally manages to rid himself of the jeans and turn back around, Michael's discarded his boxers and is waiting patiently for him on the bed, holding the bottle of lube Jeremy keeps in the nightstand. It's easily one of the top-three most beautiful things Jeremy's ever seen, right next to the Northern Lights and the Klimt painting he saw on a class trip to the Met in eighth grade. Michael spread out on his bed, cock hard and leaking against his stomach, smiling at Jeremy like there's nowhere else he'd rather be, no one else he'd rather be doing this with. It takes Jeremy a second to recover. He feels his own dick twitch in response, and then he's on Michael again, kissing him feverishly, no more layers of clothing separating them.

"Can I?" He pulls away, gesturing meaningfully to the bottle of lube Michael's been grasping like a lifeline. Michael's mouth is on his jaw then, kissing a line up to his ear, breathing a chorus of _yesyesyes _, pressing the bottle into his hand with an urgency that might've made Jeremy laugh if he wasn't so preoccupied with his own want. He pours a generous amount onto his fingers, using his free hand to direct Michael's lips back to his own. He reaches down between their bodies to circle Michael's hole, drinking in the way it makes him gasp into their kiss.__

____

____

"More." Michael sighs against Jeremy's mouth, resisting the urge to move his hand from its place on the curve of Jeremy's ass to fist his cock. Jeremy's slow, gentle as he presses a finger inside of him, drawing a wanton moan from somewhere deep in Michael's throat. He moves carefully, thrusting in and out, and Michael kisses him impatiently, clenching around what little Jeremy's given him. He whimpers against Jeremy's mouth, asking him for more in the only way he knows how. Jeremy obliges.

One becomes two, and two gives way to three, scissoring and curling until Michael's groaning, Jeremy's relentless stimulation of his prostate unbelievably good and totally, _completely_ unfair. He reaches between them to wrap a hand around Jeremy's cock, smirking when it causes the fingers inside him to suddenly still.

"Is it okay if I—do you think you're stretched enough?" Jeremy asks him, letting his free hand wander to the back of Michael's neck, rubbing small circles in the places he knows get tense.

"I, uh—I think so." Michael moves his hips a little, registering the presence of Jeremy's fingers again. There's no pain, no burning. Just a warm, steady buzz in the pit of his stomach as he grinds down on them.

"Yeah. We're good." He decides, meeting Jeremy's eyes and grinning.

The fingers inside of him are withdrawn, slowly, and he tries not to whimper at the loss of them. He props himself up on his forearms, watches Jeremy cross the room to the corner where his jeans lie long-forgotten. He picks them up, rummaging in the pockets for the condom he knows is there. He holds it above his head when he finds it, victorious, and Michael can't help but laugh.

"Enjoying the view?" Jeremy simpers, coming to sit beside him on the bed, twiddling the foil package between his fingers.

"You better believe it." Michael sits up, covering Jeremy's hands with his own. He rests his head on the other's shoulder, plucking the condom packet out of Jeremy's hand and moving to open it. "Is it alright if I help?" He asks, glancing meaningfully between Jeremy's legs, where's he still half-hard despite having gone mostly untouched.

Jeremy nods once, twice, and then Michael's hand is on him, swiping his thumb over the slit and starting to jerk him off, twisting his wrist in all the places Jeremy likes best. It's kind of amazing, Jeremy thinks, to have someone get to know your body so well that they've practically got all your preferences committed to memory. He lets his head loll back, breath coming fast as Michael strokes him. Michael somehow manages to get the condom package open with only his teeth which, quite honestly, would be enough to make Jeremy hard again if he wasn't already. He wonders if he's been practicing that move. Michael's hand is on him again, rolling the condom down his length, and he stops wondering.

"Lie back, against the pillows," Michael tells him, and Jeremy does it without thinking twice. There's something warm and heady thrumming in his veins, something animal. Whatever it is, he's at its complete mercy.

"I want to ride you," Michael says once Jeremy's made himself comfortable among the pillows, and the boy practically sputters. "Would that be okay?"

"Yes. Yes. That would, uh, be okay." Jeremy wheezes, willing himself not to combust on the spot. "That would be more than okay."

"Okay." Michael laughs softly, moving to straddle his boyfriend. A small part of him is still nervous, still unsure about what to expect, but it's being overwhelmed by something potent and full of desire—more than that, it's being overwhelmed by the absolute fondness he feels for the boy in front of him. He _wants_ this. He wants to do this with Jeremy.

Knees on either side of Jeremy's torso, Michael reaches down to line himself up with his boyfriend's length, placing a hand on his chest for leverage. He eases himself down and onto Jeremy's cock, gasping a little at the stretch, at the _fullness_ of it all. He curses under his breath, pausing to give his body time to adjust. He glances down at Jeremy, and his breath catches in his throat.

"You're so beautiful like this," Michael breathes, trying not to gawk. Jeremy's lips are kiss-bitten and red, the bottom one trapped between his teeth as he tries not to groan at the feeling of Michael around him. His hair's disheveled, his pupils are blown—he looks _thoroughly_ fucked, and they've only just begun.

"I love you. So much." Michael breathes, letting his eyes flutter shut when Jeremy ghosts a hand over his nipples, coming to rest on Michael's hip steadily. The other tangles with Michael's, bringing the boy's hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to each knuckle.

"I love you too, Michael." Jeremy smiles up at him, reveling in how intimate they get to be together, how tender they can be with each other in moments like this. He thinks, not for the first time, that he's really, really fucking lucky to have found Michael Mell in this lifetime.

"I'm going to start moving now," Michael tells him, and before he can so much as nod in response Michael's doing just that, letting Jeremy almost slide out of him entirely before taking him inside again. Jeremy groans, his hips snapping up involuntarily, and the sound it pulls out of Michael is fucking _gorgeous_.

It's hard and fast, Michael setting the pace for both of them, and Jeremy feels his eyes start to roll back into his head. Michael's smooth and soft and unbearably hot around his cock, better than he could have ever imagined. He wills himself to open his eyes, and the sight of Michael bouncing on his dick, eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, easily beats out the Klimt and the Aurora Borealis for the title of prettiest thing Jeremy Heere's ever seen.

Michael lets out a string of curses as Jeremy meets his movements with thrusts of his own, losing his facility for language altogether when the combination of Jeremy's cock brushing his prostate and Jeremy's fingernails digging into his thighs makes him see stars. It's over quickly: Michael's vision goes white as he comes, untouched, in what is easily the most intense orgasm he's ever had. Jeremy thrusts into him twice more and spills into his condom at the feeling of Michael clenching around him.

Michael lifts himself off Jeremy, wincing a little at the emptiness he's left with. Jeremy reaches to remove the condom, tying it hastily and throwing it into the wastebasket by his computer desk. Michael collapses onto his chest, boneless and breathing heavily. They stay like that for a few minutes, Jeremy rubbing the pad of his thumb over the crescent-moon marks his nails have left on Michael's hips and thighs.

"I'm all sticky." Michael frowns, registering the come drying on his—and consequently Jeremy's—stomach. Jeremy grabs a few tissues from the box on his nightstand and cleans the two of them up, still quiet. When he speaks a few minutes later, his voice is hoarse.

"That was incredible— _you're_ incredible." Jeremy murmurs, brushing his lips against Michael's forehead, burying his nose in his boyfriend's dark, sex-rumpled hair. "I love you."

Michael smiles against Jeremy's neck, letting his eyes fall shut as exhaustion overtakes his body. He'll be sore tomorrow, he knows, and they'll both probably wake up to hundreds of innuendo-heavy texts from their friends, but he doesn't have to think about any of that yet. For now, he kisses Jeremy a final time, whispers that he loves him more, and lets sleep take him.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's an obvious reference but I just,,,,,,,really love salt-n-pepa
> 
> I was supposed to be writing something Serious and I did this instead. I've pretty much run out of boyf riends shit to read, though, so it was probably time for me to contribute something. ned vizzini, I am sorry. there's not a lot of bottom!michael out there, so I decided to mix it up. my apologies if that isn't your preference. there's a fucking belinda carlisle reference. I wrote this. jesus christ
> 
> let me know your thoughts, maybe I'll do more? this was super fun, honestly. forgive all the adverbs, it's a crutch for writing smut. the ending feels sort of rushed to me, but that's probably because I have no interest in writing drawn-out sex scenes. thank you for reading, anyways! go listen 2 some salt-n-pepa, you deserve it.


End file.
